A Man of her Own

by Jan Scarbrough

  “I have a question for you.” She turned the tables.

  “What?”

  “Why did you cater this event for Amelia? She said you’re too rich to work on it yourself.” Sarah paused, her gaze settling on him. “Amelia said you’re interested in me.”

  “Your aunt is wrong,” he said too sharply. “Actually, my mother died of breast cancer.”

  “Oh.”

  One point for him. “You never answered my earlier question.”

  “I forgot what it was.”

  “What are you really doing here?”

  She lowered her head, slightly turning away from him, but gave him a bold stare. “I came to seduce you.”

  The teasing minx from the bar had suddenly reappeared. She seemed to gather courage from somewhere and flashed a come-on look his way. Then she tossed those dark curls and took a step toward his bed.

  Damn. Lane took a deep breath. She needed a lesson in humility. A man was not something to be manipulated. Emotions couldn’t be toyed with like a cat playing with a mouse. If he didn’t teach her to be cautious, she’d find another man more than willing to sample what she was offering. A man like Chase.

  That settled if for him. “You’re welcome to try.”

  His challenge seemed to catch her by surprise. Another point for him. Lane returned to the bed and stretched out waiting for her reaction.

  Her eyes half-lidded and her ripe mouth slightly parted, Sarah moved toward his bed with the grace of a cat. Lane smiled at the comparison, for she was like a huntress and he the prey. He was drunk enough to like the notion. In his mellow mood, he had every intention of being caught.

  She sank down on the edge of his bed and leaned toward him, putting the palms of her hands on his chest. At her gentle touch his nerve ends tingled with awareness. Heat surged through him, driving away all his caution. For the first time since he’d known Sarah, he didn’t want to think about tomorrow. He didn’t want to be a gentleman. He just wanted to feel and respond, going wherever his libido took him.

  She smelled so good, like a summer day fragrant with garden flowers. From beneath shaded eyes, she gazed upon him, her hands hesitant only a moment. Then her long fingers turned cat-like as she raked her nails lightly across his chest. She released a low purr deep within her throat and leaned suggestively toward him.

  Lane’s eyes narrowed. The fabric of her dress provided scant cover for the breasts she shoved so blatantly toward him. Rock hard, he captured one of her hands and drew her fingers to his mouth, slowly nipping those fingertips that had recently goaded him into response. With his other hand he pulled down one of her black spaghetti straps. It caught on her arm, but the movement was enough to release the delicate flesh that had tormented him since the moment of their first meeting.

  “You’re wicked,” he said in a throaty voice.

  “Do you accept my apology?”

  He answered “yes” with his mouth, drawing her into him. He tasted the bold tip of her exposed breast as he cupped a hand beneath it. The agony of his excitement swelled within. His breath labored. Hardly sated, he raised his eyes to hers and found them shut, her mouth parted slightly.

  In another rush of heat, he grasped both of her shoulders and jerked her down on him. He raked his lips harshly over hers, seeking to satisfy his need.

  “You’re crazy to be here,” he said into her mouth. “You know I want you—physically.”

  “I want you too.”

  As he tried to suck the breath from her lungs, Lane allowed himself to savor her sweet taste, the softness of her lips and the warmth of her body sprawling on his long length. She squirmed, rubbing a hard bone against the bulge beneath his shorts. Exquisite agony engulfed him. He wanted more than just this game playing. He wanted to be in her. Selfishly, he wanted her whole being responding just to him.

  Later he couldn’t recall when his mind blanked and he began to react totally from instinct. His hands traced the soft flesh of her back and over the sleek silk of her skimpy dress running along her pert backside that had tempted him so shamefully. He cupped her bottom with his hands as her own hands did dangerous things to his nipples, stimulating them, driving him crazier.

  Pushing upward, Lane strained against the scant cloth that separated them. Her dress already rode high on her hips, and it was an easy matter for his fingers to explore her feminine softness below. He easily breached her silken panties.

  Lane put a finger underneath the thin fabric to find her already soaking wet. “Oh, Sarah.”

  She covered his mouth once more with hers, never letting up on her assault. Close to capture, he thrust with his hips, not once but twice, in that age-old movement of love.

  “Hot, you’re so hot.”

  Sarah pushed up from the bed when he spoke. He opened his eyes to gaze upon her, soft with a woman’s yearning. He’d been wrong about her. Sarah was no girl, but a woman full grown. His woman to take. She must have read his intent and, easing over to her side, tugged down his shorts enough to release him.

  He quickly separated her from her silken panties. She crawled on top of him again, splaying her legs across his thighs, rubbing her sticky heat against him. She took him in her hands, awkwardly at first, but then with a sweet tenderness, guided him into her as if they’d been lovers forever.

  His heart almost stopped, and then picked up with a throbbing beat. She was so warm, sheathed around him. He thrust upward, hard, and penetrated a natural barrier.

  Startled by her gasp, Lane’s eyes flew open. Sarah’s eyes clouded with momentary pain, but she wouldn’t let him withdraw. The word virgin shouted aloud in his head. It was too late to stop. She bore down on him, rubbing her pelvis rhythmically against him, driving him mad with need.

  He gripped her bare bottom as she rode him. Delirious now, his breathing came in gasps. He was coming. The hot surge erupted from him.

  “Sarah!”

  Moments later she followed him, rubbing, gasping for breath, as she climaxed in small, whimpering shudders.

  Then she collapsed upon him, burying her face in the pillow beside his head. Lane put a possessive hand under her heavy hair and stroked her velvety neck. It was only then, as his passion ebbed, that his inner voice returned full force.

  What had he done? He’d meant to protect Sarah from her gullibility—from other men. In the end, he’d failed to protect her from himself.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Weak with a sated lethargy she’d never felt before, Sarah turned her head to the side and nuzzled Lane’s ear. His fingertips lingered under her hair, and he caressed her neck in gentle, leisurely movements.

  He remained quiet. Somewhere a clock ticked. Pressed against his chest, she felt his heart pounding. The rise and fall of his breathing soothed her. She took a slow breath, drawing in an earthy scent that permeated their bodies.

  The scent of sex? She raised her head to look at him, thrilled by her first time with a man.

  When she moved, part of him slipped out from between her legs. That was a new experience too, and Sarah marveled at it—at the very act that had been such a mystery to her for so many years.

  She didn’t need to speculate about love-making any more. With Lane, it had been a beautiful. Fulfilling. Had it been that way for him too?

  She couldn’t ask him. She’d sound naïve. His eyes were shut, so she couldn’t read them. She suppressed a sigh, and eased off his body to lie by his side. For a moment, she settled for having Lane’s protective arm snaked around her shoulders.

  Sarah lay against him for several minutes, safe in his embrace, her heart content. Wiggling once, she snuggled in his arms.

  The clock continued to tick. His lack of response began to trouble her. Since calling out her name, he’d said nothing. So she made excuses. He was tired. They’d been busy for three weeks and he was worn out. He was a little tipsy.

  Maybe guys were quiet after sex. Maybe they didn’t talk, preferring to withdraw into their male caves. She’d read about it, but heck,
she didn’t know for sure. She just thought it would be different somehow. More love talk, maybe.

  She cuddled beside him, weary but relaxed. Lane began to breathe deeply, evenly. Snoring slightly.

  Suddenly world-weary, her body tensed. He’d fallen asleep! The nerve of the insufferable, insensitive, inconsiderate male!

  Part of her wanted to shake him awake and demand an apology. Part of her wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

  She drew a shaky breath. The joy and novelty of her first time with a man—a man she wanted for her own—disappeared quickly to be replaced by deep embarrassment. The raw emotion strangled her, making it hard to breathe.

  Wasn’t she good enough?

  Afraid to awaken him, Sarah lay still for a long time. Her insides churned. What would Tracy say? She knew Kate would laugh at her and tell her, “I told you so. All men are jerks.”

  But her two best friends didn’t need to know. No one would know unless she said something.

  No one would know, but Lane.

  And Sarah didn’t need to see him again. The party was over. They’d be like two ships passing in the night. For him, this would be just a one night stand.

  Sarah’s heart jolted. That sounded so dirty. So sad. But Lane had warned her, hadn’t he? He’d said he wanted nothing to tie him down. Certainly not romance. And certainly not an inexperienced “baby.”

  A slow tear trickled down her cheek. Sarah swiped it away. She wasn’t going to cry about this. She’d only herself to blame. How stupid of her to think she could morph Prince Charming out of a toad. How arrogant of her to fool around with the life of another human being.

  Sarah untangled herself from Lane’s grip and carefully slid out of bed. He moaned slightly and threw his left arm over his eyes. Now self-conscious, she smoothed down her rumpled silk dress and quickly retrieved her panties.

  Standing by Lane, looking down at his long torso, Sarah swallowed the tightness in her throat. He looked so peaceful. Like a sleeping child. Sarah smiled, because he looked comical too, with his paisley boxer shorts jumbled around his ankles.

  She couldn’t hate him. She could only love him for being the caring, responsible man he was. And for telling her the truth about himself from the very first kiss.

  She just hadn’t listened.

  Sarah grabbed the coverlet at the foot of the bed and pulled it over his body. She turned out the lights. In the darkness, Sarah gave into the tangible pain inside her heart.

  She’d wanted to find love. Instead, she’d found a new understanding. Sex without love is meaningless. She loved Lane, but he didn’t love her. Love was either there or it wasn’t. You couldn’t force it. How many times had Amelia told her it was a two way street? Why hadn’t she listened? Why had she been so swept up in the folly of kissing toads and finding Prince Charming?

  Shame hit her hard. She’d been so naïve. Casting one heartsick glance at Lane, she left the guest room, closing the door behind her.

  ***

  Awakening with a grunt, Lane rubbed his eyes until they focused on the gray light of dawn coming through the bedroom window. His left arm was asleep and his mouth tasted like cotton. His head pounded too. He’d drunk too much, that’s for sure. Now he’d pay.

  Raising his arm above his head, he tried to restore his circulation. As he wiggled his fingers, he took a deep breath, drawing in the subtle scent of sex.

  He groaned and carefully turned his head. Only a slight depression remained on his pillow where Sarah’s head had rested.

  She was gone.

  The hot stuff from the night before flooded back to him. It wasn’t a dream. How could he have been so stupid? Had he hurt her in any way? Or God forbid, gotten her pregnant?

  Lane sat up. A blanket covered him. Sarah must have placed it over him sometime in the night—sometime after he’d fallen asleep.

  He rubbed his fingers across his beard-roughened chin. What had she thought about such behavior? Damn! He wasn’t a cad. He never fell asleep after making love to a woman. But he’d done it this time, and now she was gone.

  Lane threw off the coverlet only to discover his twisted boxers and evidence that what he remembered happening had happened. And his worst fears were realized. He didn’t find a condom.

  Then he remembered. Hell on wheels! She’d been a virgin. He’d actually made love to a virgin and not used protection.

  Lane smacked his palm against his forehead and let out a strangled groan. Having too much to drink was no excuse. He knew better than to let a little alcohol go to his head.

  He slung his legs over the side of the bed and slipped off his boxers. He walked into the bathroom. After downing a glass of tepid water, Lane raised his eyes to the mirror above the sink.

  He didn’t like the reflection he saw.

  It wasn’t the dark circles or the day’s growth of beard that bothered him. It was that the blue eyes staring back at him failed to reflect the sense of duty that was so much a part of his being.

  Hell, he’d always avoided casual relationships. He’d guarded the virtue of his sisters, and they’d both made good marriages. He’d been the responsible big brother. The good role model.

  Now he’d taken Sarah’s virtue. Sure this was the twenty-first century and he was a throwback to other times. But he was no better than that lounge lizard at the bar.

  “But she asked for it.”

  What man in his right mind would turn down such a blatant invitation?

  “Fool,” his reflection seemed to answer.

  He didn’t have to give in. Lane had prided himself on his inner strength. His control. He didn’t like this new image of himself.

  He hit his fist against the sink. Damn him for failing Sarah—and himself.

  ***

  By the time Amelia and Henry had left for their reserved box seats at the Kentucky Derby, the tent on the front lawn had been taken down and removed. All the evidence of last night’s party had been cleared away. Sarah had avoided the clean up. She was tired from a sleepless night and the mere thought of Amelia asking questions scared her to death. Besides, Lane had appeared to supervise.

  She watched him from her bedroom window. With his rumpled long-sleeved shirt not completely tucked into his tuxedo pants, he looked like something a cat had dragged in. He deserved to look like death warmed over. Thank heavens she never had to see him again.

  Escaping to the barn, Sarah cross-tied Harry in his stall, and began to groom him. Round and round, she moved the currycomb over the horse’s warm coat. At least Harry accepted the huge amount of love she had to offer.

  Emotion clogged her throat. She couldn’t purge Lane from her mind. The unfortunate incident had been her fault. Totally. She’d seduced him, hadn’t she?

  Lane had been a “transition” step out of immaturity into a grown-up world. At least she hadn’t made a huge mistake like Kate. At least she hadn’t married the guy. Finding out he didn’t love her was better than regretting it later. Wasn’t it?

  But wasn’t she really trying to trap him into marriage?

  Sarah’s shoulders sagged. She was delusional. She’d spent too much time as a history scholar. Trapping people into marriage didn’t happen today. Not with society’s emphasis on free sex and feel-good values. No, in her neediness, she’d concocted a purely fantastic scenario. None of it was real. And certainly it hadn’t been based on the truth Lane never denied.

  He was not Prince Charming and she couldn’t make him into one.

  Sarah rested her cheek against the horse’s shoulder. Deep in her heart, she knew she’d never be willing to settle for something less than true love—demonstrated by a man who loved her for herself simply because she was Sarah Colby, a good person, worthy of being loved.

  When Lane found Sarah in the big horse’s stall, he was amused that she presented him with the same pretty picture as his first venture into the barn—her “to-die-for” derriere displayed before him in a libido-tempting fashion. This time he knew she was picking the horse�
��s hooves to remove dirt and debris. At least he’d learned that much.

  He hadn’t learned enough about the effect she could have on him. Just seeing her again forced his pulse into quick step.

  He drew a breath. “You left these in front of my door.”

  Sarah spun around, the look of a startled doe in her eyes.

  He held a pair of black heels dangling from a finger. “I’m returning them.”

  “Thanks.” She snatched the shoes out of his hand.

  Now that they’d made love, Lane found he was painfully aware of her in a new way. She looked different. More grown up and more beautiful.

  “Everything is cleaned up.” His gaze lingered longingly on her wary eyes and her all too kissable lips.

  “I know. I saw.” She schooled her features into a blank mask.

  “I’m getting ready to leave,” he said, hoping to breech her hastily erected wall of reserve.

  “Don’t let me stop you.”

  A huge wave of guilt washed over him. That hadn’t been the reaction he’d hoped for but now he knew he had hurt her.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

  “Hurt me?”

  “Last night—during—when we. . . ”

  “Had sex?” Sarah finished for him.

  Lane straightened. “Yes.”

  Why did he feel like things were beginning to spiral out of his control? Again.

  Sarah lifted her chin. “You didn’t hurt me.”

  “But you were, ah, a virgin.”

  Only a slight tremor in her hands betrayed her. When she spoke, her words dripped with sarcasm. “So you weren’t too drunk to notice?”

  “If I’d known, I’d done things differently.” Lane took a step forward.

  “What would you have done differently? Would you have thought twice before having sex with a virgin? Would you have stayed awake afterward?”

  “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

  “But you did.” She drew the words out. “Like a baby.”

  It was worse than he’d thought. He didn’t blame her. What kind of jerk fell asleep after making love? Some macho man with a six-pack in a cheap motel room maybe, but not Lane Williams. He was better than that. He had more dignity. More pride.